Between the lines

and tableware, even though in the fairy tale, Cook is never actually seen baking. Because of this, during our off time, Maureen pores through recipe books and bakes cakes and pies and biscuits for the rest of us.

“Can I ask you something else?” I say, turning to Maureen. “I know he’s just a flashback to you. But Maurice, he rode off to save you, and wound up leaving you behind forever. Is it really worth dying for the person you love?”

She thinks about this for a moment. “That’s not the real question, Oliver. What you should be asking is, Can you live without her?”

* * *

Frump has called a meeting of all the characters, so we are gathered on the final page of the story, on Everafter Beach. He stands on his hind legs on a driftwood stump, addressing the masses. “It has come to my attention, friends,” he says-he’s truly the best orator of us all-“that we may be falling down on the job.”

“Falling down is my job,” says Pyro the dragon, who I must admit looks rather fetching with new fiery red rubber bands on his upper braces. “It’s on page forty.”

“I meant it more as a metaphor,” Frump says. “None of us have gotten a lot of face time lately, because the Reader seems to be fixated on a particular page.”

From my position, where I am sitting with my back against a palm tree, I freeze.

“Page forty-three,” Frump adds, staring at me.

I give a flat laugh. “Well,” I say. “Go figure.”

“Can you think of any reason, Oliver, that the Reader’s ignoring the rest of the story?”

“I’m, um, certain that it’s only a coincidence,” I stammer. “Perhaps she’s very interested in rock climbing?”

“She?” Rapscullio says, stepping forward with a frown. “How do you know it’s a she?”

I swallow hard. “Did I say she?” I shrug. “Just a guess. I mean, aren’t most of our Readers little girls?”

“My point exactly,” Frump says. “Which is why I think we need to amp up the action a bit. The next time this book is opened, let’s leap off the page.”

“Good luck with that,” I mutter.

“What was that, Oliver?”

I cough. “Just a tickle in my throat.”

“Right. As I was saying-mermaids, creepier! I want these kids to have nightmares! And trolls, make sure you slam Oliver to the ground when he crosses the bridge. And Rapscullio, when you’ve got him dangling sixty feet off the ground-”

“Hey, wait a minute!” I interrupt. “What about me?”

“Seems to me you’re doing just fine.” Seraphima sniffs. “Whereas I haven’t spoken a single word in days.…”

“There’s a silver lining,” I murmur.

“You’re absolutely right,” Frump agrees, so eager to support Seraphima that he yelps. “With a voice as pure as yours, Princess, you should speak constantly…”

But he might as well be talking to thin air. Seraphima completely ignores Frump, instead settling down beside me on the sand and running her fingers up my arm in a tickle. “Ollie,” she purrs. “I really miss you. How about we go to page sixty and practice the kiss?”

“I promised, uh, to help Maureen in the kitchen,” I say.

She sighs. “Suit yourself.” Then she looks up at Frump. “Are we about done here? Because I really need a nap. Beauty sleep, you know.”

“If you’ll allow me to say so, milady, nothing could make you any more beautiful than you already are,” Frump replies.

Kyrie, the mermaid, rolls her eyes. “For goodness’ sake, Frump, you’re making me seasick.” One of the great ironies of this book is that the mermaids, in real life, don’t have a boy-crazy bone in their bodies.

“All right, then!” Frump barks. “We all know what we’ve got to do to engage the Reader. I highly recommend using this off time to practice, so that we’re in top-notch performance shape by the time the story is in play again.”

He hops down lightly from his stump as the characters scatter. “Oh, Princess? Princess Seraphima? If you need someone to stand in for Oliver on page sixty, I’m happy to volunteer…”

She turns around and points a finger at him. “Stay. Good boy.”

With his tail between his legs, Frump shuffles off the beach. I am about to head after him, to try to lift his spirits-or at least to get him to abandon a ridiculous crush on a woman with the mental resources of a brick-when Captain Crabbe slaps me hard on the back. “Ahoy, Oliver. Did I hear you say that Maureen’s cooking again? Dare I hope it’s the pineapple upside-down cake? I’m happy to cut it into slices.”

He draws his rapier from its sheath. The steel gleams, but not as brightly as his smile. Guess that’s what happens when you floss daily.

Flossing daily.

Putting braces on dragons.

Moonlighting as a dentist instead of a pirate.

I take one look at Captain Crabbe and realize that this man might actually understand why I so desperately want to get out of the story. “Captain,” I say, “how about you and I take a little walk?”

* * *

“Leave the story?” Captain Crabbe says, stopping dead in his tracks. The fairies, which have been accompanying us, swarm about his face like large mosquitoes. “I could never!”

“But imagine-somewhere, in another world, you might have your own orthodontics practice. You could fit retainers all day long, without ever having to stop to rig a mainsail or blow a cannon!” I offer him my widest, most hopeful smile.

He looks, for a moment, like he’s considering this option. Then he says, “You know, that eyetooth on the left is just a little crooked. I can fix that…”

I sigh, frustrated. “What if I told you I’d made contact with… the outside?”

Glint crosses her tiny arms. “Sounds like someone’s been daydreaming again…”

I swat at her. “Who asked you, anyway?”

“Ignore him,” Sparks whispers. “He got up on the wrong side of the royal bed, obviously.”

I ball my hands into fists. “WILL YOU ALL JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?”

“Well, I never,” Ember mutters.

“Honestly!” Glint seconds.

Sparks lifts her chin. “Come on, ladies. We know when we’re not being appreciated.”

They disappear between the branches of the trees in the Enchanted Forest, and Captain Crabbe follows after them.

“Not you,” I say. “You can stay.”

“Oh. Aye.” He faces me again. “Look, son. Even if what you said was possible… that doesn’t mean I’m not happy right where I am.”

“But how could you be? Doing the same thing over and over again, as if it doesn’t matter whether or not you have your own mind, or your own thoughts?”

He shrugs. “I may be doing the same thing over and over again, Oliver… but I’m doing something I love. I get to be an actor and I get to do orthodontia.” Captain Crabbe looks up at me. “What if instead of focusing on what you don’t have, you concentrated on what you’ve got?”

I snort. “A supreme amount of frustration?”